“It’s no secret in Heaven, chief. But God eventually managed to smooth things over with His missus. He can be a real charmer when He wants to be. And one thing led to another and the other thing led to the bedroom and Colin was born.”

“Colin?”

“The third child of God. Born within wedlock this time. But he’s a bad lot, that Colin, chief. I hate to speak ill of the governor’s son, but that Colin. Phtah!”

“Phtah?”

“That was the sound of me spitting, chief.”

“What? Inside my head? You …”

“Don’t get yourself in a lather. It’s only a bit of vegetable phlegm. But anyhow, God’s gone missing and His wife is in a right state. She reckons He’s down on Earth again, getting up to hanky-panky. He has this thing about Jewish virgins, you see, and—”

“Enough!” I gave my head a clout.

“Ouch!” went Barry.

And “Ouch!” I went too. “But turn it in, will ya? You’ll bring down the wrath of God on the both of us.”

“I didn’t have you down as being pious, chief. I thought you always said you were an atheist.”

“What? With you in my head?”

“I thought your psychiatrist told you that I was a delusion and that you were suffering from multiple-personality disorder and that the voice you heard in your head had been caused by some tragedy that had happened in your youth, which, allied to your drink problem and your broken marriage and your need to reach out to your feminine side and—”

“All right! All right! All right! I do believe in you. OK, I’ve said it now. Are you satisfied?”

“Always a pleasure, ever a joy.”

I took another slug of Old Bedwetter and lit up a Camel. I always smoke a Camel on occasions like this. The rich mellow taste of the fine Virginia tobacco gives me that special satisfaction which you just don’t find with other smokes.

“I can hardly wait till you put on your pile ointment, chief.”

“Yeah, right. But I can’t chitchat with you all day, Barry. I have a thousand big ones up front and a case that needs solving.”

“Forget that, chief. This is really big. God’s gone missing. Don’t you hear what I’m saying?”

“Sure I do, Barry. But if God’s got the hots for some piece of kosher tail, that’s hardly my business. God knows His own business best.”

“No, chief, you’re missing the point. If God doesn’t get back on the job, there’s no telling what might happen to the world.”

“But I thought you were implying that God was on the job, which is why His wife’s so upset. Haw haw haw.”

“Chief, pay attention. If God isn’t up in Heaven, managing things down here, then things down here are going to get hairier than a prize-winning pooch in a hirsute hound competition.”

“Ease up there. But I don’t get you, Barry. What do you mean about God managing things down here? Everybody knows that God doesn’t exactly have a hands-on approach to running the planet. God gave man free will. He doesn’t intervene. He doesn’t take sides. God’s neutral. Like Switzerland.”

“That’s what God would have you believe. But it isn’t so. God has always taken an active part throughout the course of human history.”

“You mean by inspiring people? Like poets and painters? Like prophets and priests?”

“No, chief. They’re all just nutcases. God never actually speaks to anybody, but He has shaped human history. And would you like to know how?”

“I would,” I said, and I would and I did.

“The weather, chief. God controls the weather.”

“Oh,” said I, and “does He?”

“Yes He does. Think about it. The entire colonization of the world depended on which way the wind blew and there are heaps of battles that were won or lost according to the weather. The Spanish Armada blasted away in a storm. Hitler expecting a mild winter in Russia. Rain stopping play each time England get near to winning back the Ashes. Everything in human history has ultimately been governed by the weather.”

“Well, I never knew that.”

“Of course you didn’t. But think about this. The only things you can’t insure against are acts of God. And that’s floods, lightning and earthquakes and all that palaver. And that’s God sticking His oar in.”

“You live and learn,” said I.

“Well, some of us do.”

“What’s that, Barry?”

“Nothing, chief. But what I’m saying is that God manages the weather and the weather manages human affairs and human history.”

“So what exactly does God have against the Ethiopians?”

“I think they nicked the Ark of the Covenant. God does have a very long memory. You never heard of a Jewish saint, did you?”

“No,” said I, “I did not. But what has all this got to do with me?”

“Wakey-wakey, chief. God’s gone missing. His wife wants Him found.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“That very much depends on what it is you think I’m saying.”

“Me?” I said. “You want me to find God?”

“God’s wife wants you to find God. Someone told her that you were the best in the business.”

“Someone? Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“If you think I’m saying that it was me—”

“Barry, I love you.”

“—then you’re wrong, chief.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, chief. Not a thing.”

“Me!” I upped right out of my chair, skipped the light fandango and turned cartwheels ’cross the floor.

“Whoa! Don’t do that, chief! Agh! Eeek! Ooh!”

“Sorry, Barry.” I fell into a perfect splits position before back-flipping over my desk to land once more upon my chair. There to turn a whiter shade of pale.

“The piles, chief?”

“Urgh!”

I sat upon an ice pack and pondered my position. I was being called in to find God. This was the Big One. This was The Case. Every great detective dreams of The Case. And this had to be it.

“Barry,” said I, with more seriousness than a Sudanese soothsayer, “this is the Big One, but I have a problem here.”

“You could strap the ice pack into your underpants.”

“Not that kind of problem. I’m already engaged on a case. I’ve taken the thousand big ones up front. And although these are now only small ones, compared to the Big One, I can’t just quit the case.”

“Chief. A word to the wise here. God’s wife is not the kind of creature that you want to keep waiting. If you think that God’s been a little harsh with the Ethiopians, believe me, piss God’s wife off and you’re in a world of hurt.”

I glanced down at my wristlet watch. “Listen, Barry,” I said. “It’s just turned four. I can have this other case tied up today, easy. Then I could go out this evening, have a few beers, talk some toot, get an early night and find God first thing in the morning. How does that sound?”

“About as likely as Blue Peter sponsoring a Gary Glitter comeback concert, chief.”

“That likely, eh?”

“That, or just a bit less.”

I pondered my position once more. I felt the need to cogitate. To conceptualize. To lucubrate. To cerebrate. To ruminate. To …

“Gimme a break, chief. Dump your case and let’s go looking for God.”

“Well …”

“Chief, would you like me to tell you a little story about God’s wife?”

“Does it have a happy ending?”

“No, chief, it doesn’t. But I’m going to tell it to you anyway. It’s all about how the world really began and it’s not the version you’ve read in the Old Testament. I’ll tell it as it happened and I’ll do all the voices and everything. I’ll even throw in a title for good luck.”

“Go on then.”

“OK.”

God’s wife wasn’t impressed.

“And what is that supposed to be?” she asked.

“It’s a present,” said God. “I made it for you.”

“A present.” God’s wife did that thing with her mouth. That thing that God didn’t like.

“It’s for your birthday,” said God. “You see I didn’t forget.”